A Twist on the Tale
by Eulphy Winchester-Chase
Summary: What happens when Glee's VA and ND gets a switch in the long beloved tale. In which New Directions has won two consecutive Nationals and Vocal Adrenaline is the newbie. In which Rachel's the National Diva and Jesse's got two moms and a dad he doesn't know yet. In which everything is just topsy turvy, can the St Berry make it work? AU 2: Hello Δ
1. Sectionals

**Title: _A Twist on the Tale_**

**Author: _Eulphy_**

**Summary: _What happens when_ _Glee's VA and ND gets a switch in the long beloved tale. In which New Directions has won two consecutive Nationals and Vocal Adrenaline is the newbie. In which Rachel's the National Diva and Jesse's got two moms and a dad he doesn't know yet. In which everything is just topsy turvy, can the St Berry make it work?_**

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**Note: Rachel's a junior here, same as Jesse. Schue is more or less a male version of Shelby - strict and fair, meaning he doesn't favor Finn here. This will be a St. Berry fic and an AU one at that. So, if you prefer Canon than this, go back. But while your here, just remember that its got the _twist _with the personality too. Like, snarky and insulting Mr. Schue or Rachel – because being on top, that's how I see Shelby and Jesse.**

**Another warning, Jesse's moms - yes, moms - used a surrogate to impregnate one of them. Guess who the surrogate is...**

**Also, Shelby doesn't have any _familial _connections with Rachel. Rachel's got a normal rich and divorced and absent parents - like Jesse in the Canon.**

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"Why are we here again?" Rachel Berry slumped on her seat, a pout on her lips and a sad look on her eyes. Usually, people would go over the hills to give her whatever she wanted whenever they see her look. But the person directed with the look didn't even have a reaction except for the bland stare.

Will Schuester, her show choir coach, had always seem to be the only one to handle her tantrums and her _diva-ness _(as some of her teammates would say). He was always the strict paternal figure she missed from her biological father. Nothing could sway him.

This time wasn't even different. He only gave her a raised eyebrow look as if asking, '_Really? This is the best you can do?' _And it only made her pout more when he looked back to the program proper he was reading without a second glance.

Rachel sighed, playing with the end of her long dark hair - a habit she picked up from her aunt - and looked moodily at the stage. Nothing seemed to work on him. Not even her crazy diva episodes. Nothing can faze him.

Will Schuester was her (and the others too, she supposed... but morely hers) Dad in all but blood. He hadn't just mentored her (them) with singing during the three years they'd been together. He had been there to take them down a peg or two when they get so high up. He had been there to protect any member of the New Directions - their show choir - when one of their own was harmed. He was there if they needed a shoulder to lean on or someone to listen to the crap that was their life.

Many people - fans - would say that being in ND was a dream. It was the top show choir, a national champion, being part of it would be paradise. Rachel knew that because that was how she thought once upon a time. But it hadn't really been easy despite what she first thought of it.

She remember how, as a young naïve freshman, she had strolled down the halls of Carmel High, ready to take anything on. She had her whole life planned already, afterall.

(A Tony and an Emmy by the time she was 25 and the role of Fanny in _Funny Girl_, she would say to anyone who would listen)

It had taken Mr. Schue to take her down three pegs to realise that she had to _work _to get what she want in life. He showed her that her rich, spoiled brat lifestyle needed to be thrown out of the window for her to achieve broadway. He humiliated her, called down her every mistakes and never complimented her. Many who had been treated the same in her year had given up immediately. She didn't.

Truth be told, [_now_] she was thankful for those insults that he threw at her. She had worked - actually worked and competed against worthy opponents to reach the position she was on now. She had danced and sang more than she had ever done in all her fifteen years of life in that one year just so she could hear him praise her.

(It was all worth it, she know because she can see it with the trophies - national show choir championship trophies on the New Directions's base)

Rachel was no idiot. She knew - just as anyone in New Directions does - that everything that she (they) was now, it was all because of Will Schuester.

Rachel snapped back to reality when she heard Mr. Schue sigh. She gazed at him to see him focused on the simple paper with the program on it. "You can leave, you know." He said. "I can always call in Quinn and have her sit in for you."

Instantaneously, she put her showface on, hiding the grimace that would've formed. She knew exactly what her _'Dad'_ was playing at. He say that, but there was no question or doubt that her presence there was not wanted but needed. And if she didn't want to, her solos would be given to Quinn. She stayed where she was, a tense formed on her shoulder signifying determination not to give up her spot for _Quinn._ She woudn't allow that. She finally had taste of fame (even if its not Broadway, its practice for the real deal), she won't give that up. Not willingly.

(They'd have to tie her up and gag her before throwing her to the deep blue sea before she would step down. And it wouldn't be willingly.)

She heard Mr. Schue make a small scuffle on his seat and she knew that he was hiding that smile again. The one which always appear when he won an argument. That smug look of amusement she had detested and found so endearing.

"We aren't here to just watch." He said. "We're here to scope the competition. Remember: _keep your friends close. Your enemies closer."_

"Yeah, I got you, Daddy Schue." It was what most of the ND veterans called him so he didn't even bat an eyelash or give her a look for calling him that. "But really? I highly doubt they're gonna be worth the competition."

_"Icarus fell because he believed he can touch the sun._" Mr. Schue wisely informed her.

Discreetly, Rachel rolled her eyes. "Aren't you supposed to be a Spanish teacher, not a philosophy teacher?" She mumbled, looking away from him and hoping he hadn't heard.

Mr. Schue's _I heard you _killed those thoughts.

"But seriously," She turned the topic another way around. "I highly doubt this would take much of your interest. I mean, they're hardly competition." She snorted at that.

Her _Dad _just gave her the program proper. "That wouldn't be the case here." He said. "See, there, two of the groups are at a _disadvantage. _If ever they were to advance, the judges wouldn't just go for the voice, there will still be the pity factor. They're the underdogs afterall."

"The Jane Addams girls are the only one that can probably win _here_," Her tone was clear. Jane Addams might pass through the Sectionals, but they won't even be worth the battle with ND in the Regionals. "Can't we just watch them and leave? I highly doubt those barbarians can even match with Quinn or Santana."

"Don't be so sure." Mr. Schue pointed at the bottom of the list. There, it said: **_Vocal Adrenaline _**_(Carmel)._

"Didn't they got disqualified last, last year for inappropriate dance moves and lyrics and they never returned." Rachel tried to stifle the guffaws she wanted to let out at the reminder of Carmel's performance during her freshman year.

It was _the _most amusing performance in all her life. She could recall how Quinn had doubled over her laughter. Clear as day, she can remember how Santana had wanted to go up the stage and show those _estupidos _how a real seductive dance goes like. Vaguely, she could hear her ex-duet partner's mocking at the lack of proper talent. More importantly, she could recall how their usually calm and colleced _Dad _had practically exploded at the Carmel's coach, yelling about obscenities in the sacred theatre.

(Okay, a senior member might have ranted at that and Mr. Schue had repeated his words)

"Yes, well," Mr. Schue cleared hus throat, obviously aware at where her thoughts were getiing at. "They have a new coach now, and since she and her kids are an enigma, I decided that we ought to check her out."

Rachel knew what her teacher meant, of course. But she really, _really _get kicks for riling him up. "Well, if you wanted a date with her, you could've jut ask. What do you need a winggirl for?"

Mr. Schue just gave her a land stare befoe thoroughly ignoring her. She only giggled into her hand. She knew that as soon as the performances start, he'd be inside his little bubble and criticizing every move of the little groups on the stage. It was one of the things he'd taught her, looking and finding the flaws.

(Another was the best insults for untalented numbskulls)

As the formal proceedings begin, Rachel tried not to show her boredom at the lame speeches. Once upon a time, she may at least try to listen or pretend to listen. But after a while, she realised that it was all repetitive. She got tired of it after a while.

"They're starting." Mr. Schue said. "Listen carefully. I want your opinion afterwards."

Rachel wanted to snort at that. She knew that by _opinion, _he meant her critique. It was one of the things she prided herself in – her ability to listen and discern every high or low note being sung. She looked up at the stage as the lights went down and the _Jane Addams Academy _was introduced.

Instantaneously, Rachel felt distaste rise up from her inner Diva. She knew that if Santana, her not-friend, could see the performance, she wouldn't hesitate to come up the stage and show them how a real performance was done. Quinn wouldn't hesitate to criticize the way that they dressed in spandex and baggy gold jackets.

(Rachel really had no say in fashion since her everyday clothing consisted of granny sweaters from Poland and skirts from Italy)

"What are you doing?" She heard Mr. Schue ask when he noticed her raising her IPhone (thank you, ND Boosters).

"Taking pictures." She answsered.

"For?"

"Quinn and San." A devious grin plastered on her usually plain and solemn face. "They're gonna have laughs at this."

She heard her _Dad _sigh and a few movements that was obviously the shaking of his head. She ignored him and took a couple more of pictures before sending them to her contacts, **Satan **and **Barbie**. _Yep, _she thought. Santana and Quinn were going to have a real laugh at that.

She hid her phone away and listened as _And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going_from Dream Girls was sang as the group's solo. It was insulting to say the least. The song they sang was amazing, it had lots of potential. The soloist was an ethnic minority, so it was easy to project what was needed in the song. But it was too fierce. The song lost its meaning as the lead turned the song to whatever she wanted it to be.

"What do you think?" She faced her _Dad, _tightlipped and showface on.

"They're horrendous." He only nodded his head, as if the insult wasn't even that bad. When he didn't say anything in between, she continued on. "_And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going _is a stereotypical song for girls like them." She nudged her head towards the stage. "If I were to judge them, I'd give them a 4.5." Before he could say another word, she added. "… over 10."

"Their soloist can hit the right notes." Mr. Schue's tone of voice was bland, obviously saying that he agreed with her scoring and arguing just for the sake of argument. "And _it _is an iconic piece."

"Iconic piece or not, the song was brutally butchered." Rachel scowled, crossing her legs and biting her thumb – a habit she so tried to stop. "She portrayed too much hatred and bitterness there. The song was meant to be of devoted love and a little bit of adoration. I understand that Jane Addams's girls are… reformed girls, so the song choice is utterly… unbalanced with them." There, she cut the insults a tad because she could feel that some ears were listening on them.

"Hmm, so high school show choir shouldn't try iconic pieces like this?" He hummed, leaning back to watch the group do a hairography.

"Anyone but us," She hid her mouth behind her closed fists. "No."

Mr. Schue didn't say anything else, so Rachel took the initiative to focus on the Jane Addams's faults. She _tsk-_ed every few seconds and let out sighs of exasperation in more times than she could count with her fingers.

"What in Barbra's good name is _that_?" Rachel's face distorted into a scowl. The intro for _Proud Mary _began and as if the clothes weren't enough to show off the _poor, pathetic _and bla-bla-bla of the _disadvantaged_ youth, they even went to go and sit on a wheelchair. But that wasn't the worst of it. No, it was the fact that they couldn't even wheel themselves properly.

In quick succession, her phone was up and the camera was pointed at the stage. She was in video feed with her ex-duet partner in Skype to complain. If she couldn't do it right at the auditorium (because, let's face it, she's a diva – not Santana), then she'll have to live with throwing insults at them through her phone with her trusted co-insulter. That was what she did for the rest of the minute that passed.

The light soon got back as the Jane Addams bowed. She didn't join the polite clapping and neither did Mr. Schue. He simply looked at her with raised eyebrow, as if asking for her opinion. She thrust her phone at him, showing the whole conversation – which was more of an insult-fest than anything else. When she noticed he was busy nodding off at the insults, she stood and hurried to the snack bar.

It wasn't that she was angry. No, she was pretty full from the vegan mix that dearest _Daddy Schue _kindly treated her earlier. As she paid for two Still Drinking Water bottle, she decided that she wasn't sad either. She wasn't mad, so that ruled it out. No, Rachel Berry – for the first time since forever – was aggravated and stressed from watching a show choir performance. As she gulped one bottle, she thought of the other two performers and decided to buy five more – just in case.

When she got back to her seat, carrying four bottles of water (she drank the other three), Mr. Schue gave her phone back.

"Interesting choice of words." He told her. "_'Barbares. Stupide, Callous barbares qui tentent de détruire la beauté de perfoming Arts.', _It would seem my dear student has learned a thing or two in France."

"I prefer this one." Rachel sniggered and pointed at the one after that. "' _Quelqu'un d'appeler la police! Ces ... ces chiens ont besoin d'être réhabilitées plus avant qu'ils puissent montrer leur visage en public!'"_

Mr. Schue shook his head. "Really, the two of you are simply…" He finished that with a small laugh.

Rachel grinned proudly. It was quite childish but even things like those made her proud. She really, _really _would do _everything _– insult someone, force herself to sing a high note, dance a dangerous dance – just so she could hear her _Dad _compliment her. That was the same view as the rest of the veteran ND (Quinn, Santana, Mike, her). They do what they do because it was what Mr. Schue would be proud of.

"Water?" He asked, looking at the bottles in her arms.

"I'm stressed." Was the only thing she said. And it seemed to be the only thing he needed to hear.

"Haverhurst is next." He told her, as if in warning. "It's a... Deaf Show Choir."

Rachel sat up straight by that and looked bug-eyed at her beloved _Dad_. "You're joking with me? Please, Daddy, tell me I don't have to sit through such… such _tormento_." She bit her lips and her eyes got glassy.

He rolled his eyes at her and simply patted her head. "You don't know, Rachel, maybe a fluke could happen."

"They don't need a fluke. They need a miracle." She mumbled and slumped down her seat. She was being childish, she knew, but was her _Dad _really forcing her to listen to a _Deaf _choir's attempt to sing. Heck, the word deaf and choir shouldn't even get together like that.

Mr. Schue ruffled her hair and gave her a flash of smiles that were rare even on the best days. She pouted still. She really, fully outright believed that no good can come out of deaf choir performance.

She was proven right when the opening of _Don't Stop Believing _blared out of the stereos. She applauded the song choice – it was one of her favorite non-broadway songs. But when the curtain was unraveled and they began to open their mouth to – to butcher her beloved Journey favorite, she wanted to consume as much H2O as possible. She felt like her whole being was being sucked.

She tried to be nice with her judgment. Honest to the goddess of Broadway, she did. She knew that they couldn't hear themselves, but still…

"I wish _I _was deaf." She croaked out, hiding her whole head on her arms. "Please, Daddy Schue, please let me out of this hellhole." She looked at Mr. Schue, her whole face pained as her ears reached the ultimate level of pain.

He twisted his neck to nod her off, his showface slipping for a moment and showing the grimace of his face. That was all the confirmation she needed. She stood up, full height and grimace twisting her face as her sensitive ears rang. She looked around and saw that she wasn't the only one ready to bolt. There were others who were trying to leave as discreetly as possible. They were all hunched and trying to appear smaller as they passed the rows of seat. It was the universal way of trying to be polite and not disturbed anyone.

But she could see, just as she was doing, a boy from across the row had stood up in full height and the distaste was _so _easy to see. He stalked towards the exit and created a perfect storm out. She couldn't help the chuckle that came out from her and she hurriedly left the auditorium before people could give her odd looks. She didn't manage the same grandiose exit that the boy from earlier did, but as she was walking towards the exit, she gave him an applause – though people thought she was applauding the _Haverhurst's _kids.

As soon as the doors closed behind her, she felt instant relief. Finally, the noise was gone. She remained on the corridor for a moment, relishing the silence. She was leaning on the wall, looking for some sort of support. She felt the buzzing on her ears slowly fade and she could finally breathe. When she could finally feel her zen returning to her, she grabbed her water bottles and began consuming, trying to wash away her stress.

She sat on the lobby, drinking her ninth bottle (she bought another one) of water and Skype-ing her ex-duet partner. She had relayed the pain her heavily sensitive ears were in as the Haverhurst kids squawked. She told him about the boy with the Diva-potential and he laughed at her, telling her how she was finally finding her other half.

"Oh, shut up." She giggled at his jesting. "But honestly, I really want you back."

"What? Hudson not good enough for you?" He asked.

"No." She couldn't help but snort at the reminder of the tall, lanky jock with a weak baritone. "I mean, your voice mixes up pretty well with my mezzo-soprano or with Quinn or with Santana. That's how much I love your voice."

"Just my voice?" He joked.

"Yep." She nodded seriously.

"Ouch! That's got to hurt." He chuckled, making motions of being shot in the heart.

"Whatever." Rachel shook her head, and when she looked up to see Mr. Schue making his way towards her, she grinned. "Hey, Daddy, the prodigal son shows." She faced her phone towards him, grinning.

"Hey there, Dad." He grinned, saluting.

"Sebastian, how is your stay in Paris?" Mr. Schue nodded his head at the former male lead of New Directions.

"Two words, Dad – Clingy. Mama." Sebastian Smythe, ex-male lead of ND, shuddered at the thought of his mother. "She won't let me out of her sight. It's suffocating."

Mr. Schue shook his head, smiling at the ways of his _prodigal son _(Santana was the one who called him that). "Well, we all miss you."

"Of course you do. I'm so missable." He laughed at his own corny joke. "Anyway, I can see that you guys need to return to your 'reconnaissance' soon." But before he ended the call, he said, "By the way, Dad, was there any Deaf Choir fluke?"

Mr. Schue sighed, shaking his head. Sebastian's laugh mixed with Rachel's giggles echoed the empty lobby.

"Come on, Rachel, the intermission's about the end." Mr. Schue said.

"Sure thing, Daddy." She said, standing up and following him back to the auditorium. "I'll call you later."

"Video the Carmel's performance for me, Sweetcheeks, I wanna have something to laugh about here." Sebastian gave her a mischievous wink before signing out.

When they were seated back in their seats, Rachel picked up the fallen program proper and looked at the final performers. Carmel's Vocal Adrenaline didn't even have any proper picture. It was so faded that they couldn't see the proper faces. There weren't any special notes like who was the soloist, the duet or whatever.

She compared the black and white blurred photo to New Direction's own. ND featured Rachel at the front, showing her off. Beside her would always be Sebastian (now Finn Hudson). Santana, Mike and Quinn would be a centimeter behind them. The others would be scattered behind. Nevertheless, their faces would be visible at the very least. And her name would always be on the _soloist _portion underneath the big bold **NEW DIRECTION **name.

"Hey, Daddy Schue, _who _is the Carmel's new coach?" She asked.

"A Miss Shelby Corcoran, if I recall correctly." She pursed her lips, trying to discern if she heard the name before. When her mind couldn't give her the information she needed, she asked her _Dad _about the woman. "I honestly have no idea." He said.

"What about her kids?" Rachel asked. "Don't you have anything on them?"

"Nada." Mr. Schue shook his head. "I pulled out my ears on Carmel after the _incident_ and they never gained my interest."

"Till now?"

"Yes. Till now."

"Why?"

"Carmel's Vocal Adrenaline are the Wild Card now." He said, staring at the stage with a faraway look in his eyes. "We don't know what they're capable of. If they ever move forward, we have no info on any of them. Not Shelby Corcoran. Not her kids."

"I got you." Rachel nodded her head. It was one of the things Mr. Schue imparted on them – the secret to winning. They had to learn the ins and outs of the enemy. They had to know up to what level they are so that they could surpass them tenfold.

It was one of the reasons why ND won as soon as he started to coach them.

Rachel pursed her lips and closed the program as the lights slowly dim. She took a deep breath and prepared herself for the worst. Fishing her phone, she was ready to record the Carmel's performance for Sevastian. But if this got to unbearable, she was leaving. She didn't care for whatever it was. Her _Dad _may not be happy with that, but her sensitive ears were far more important.

Then, the orchestra began to play. For a moment, Rachel wanted to cry in outrage. Wasn't it enough that Haverhurst had decapitated her beloved Don't Stop Believing? Now, Carmel wanted to butcher one of Sondheim's greater works too.

She glared at the stage. The curtain rose but Carmel wasn't there. Oh, _now _they were bailing from _Giants in the Sky_. She could see Mr. Schue rolling his shoulder from impatience from her peripheral vision. And then…

"Oh, dear Barbra!" She almost dropped her phone as a high tenor reached her ears. It didn't cause her sensitive ears to hear the tremor of the notes being sang. In fact, she felt like she was in New York watching _Into the Woods _live. "Dear Sondheim…" She breathed out.

This wasn't a voice for a small town show choir. This was the voice of Apollo (God of Music, Poetry, etc.) This was the voice that was worthy to sing side-by-side to. This was a voice meant to be put in a high pedestal for all the little people around them (bar her – and Daddy Schue too, she supposed) should bow down to and grovel on.

She turned towards the back, hoping to catch sight of Apollo. The spotlight – which was still on stage till the door was slammed open – had followed a young man (because he was one, not a boy like anyone in their age here in the HSSC business) as he made his way down the aisle.

She could see that he was taller than her (but then again, who wasn't?). He was wearing a pink dress shirt. And usually, it would be seen as a gay color, but he looked so delectable on it. She could see his curls from her seat. His face was alight with emotion, as if he was Jack.

(Santana would've easily said, _Wanky Wanky._

Sebastian's judgment would be, _Super Hot_.

Rachel would agree.)

For a moment, she contemplated whether or not he was doing a lipsync. Because a voice like _that_cannot be conceivable here in a _High School _competition. But as she watch the rise and fall of his chest, she could tell that he had some experience with learning the proper breathing pattern on how to let out his pure voice.

_Oh, Streisand… _She melted when he briefly passed her row. She was close to the aisle, after all. She heard his voice much closer and it was more melodious than all else. She felt herself lean closer as he passed her and she could smell his scent.

(And she wanted to berate herself for acting like a dopey lovesick teenager, but she was far too enchanted to care)

Then, he ran back towards the middle, belting out the jaw dropping high notes. She wanted to cry because it was so beautiful. Then, as he proceeded on, much more calm but with the same passion – or even more passion than the original Into the Woods's Jack had sang the words, he stopped a row or two in front of her and took a pug-faced blonde's hand and kissed it.

Green invaded her vision. She felt something inside her stir. It was something she couldn't understand. She never felt like that before. Not at the same extent anyway.

She was Jealous.

It was truly laughable.

She, Rachel Barbra Berry, star of New Directions, Diva, soon-to-be Broadway star was jealous. And it wasn't even of the talent he possessed or his high vocal range. It was because of a pug-faced b*tch for getting her hand kissed by Apollo.

Yet another deplorable revelation was when she turned to face Mr. Schue. Rachel prided herself on being Mr. Schue's favorite _daughter. _She was his _Dive Daughter_. She liked to think that she know of him and his expressions far better than anyone else in ND. But the look he possessed then was something she had never seen before.

He looked thoroughly spooked. It was a laughable idea. Will Schuester? Spooked because a (amazing, hot, delectable) young man with a big voice? But Rachel could see the way his eyes widened and the way he was gripping the paper. It was so crumpled and she paled. How was it that this… this powerful voice managed to do what no one (not even her or Quinn, or Santana, or Sebastian, or all of the above) managed to do?

He managed to cause awe and fear to William Schuester.

Apollo rushed up the stage and much to her surprise, his voice was amplified more. This time, fear struck her whole body. It was obvious that the Techie were working on lowering the mic because, just for a moment, Apollo's voice had consumed the whole auditorium, drowning the large orchestra. How was it possible that a _High School Show Choir _could possess such strong voice that it was almost too much for a Sondheim?

As the song neared its end, the rest of Carmel entered through the doors. She only looked at them briefly – eyeing the way they smiled nervously and how some guys fixed their ties or some girls twirled a strand of their hair (nervous habits). It was obvious, she felt a surge of pride and kinship for the unknown singer and nicknamed after a god, he was the Star. The rest of his groupies obviously knew that.

Then, Apollo belted out the finale.

There was a loud applause. Everyone stood and gave him a standing ovation. She didn't.

(She'd like to say it was because she was an ND and NDs don't give praise to competition, but it was really because she was too busy gawking/drooling over him to do so)

Much to her surprise though, New Direction's hardass coach stood too. And she saw something she would still question if it was real. William Schuester was smiling as he brought his hands to applause. There were tears running down his cheeks.

And a deep surging jealousy for the young man burst from her.

How was it that this random young man could do what she can't? What did he have that her Daddy Schue would give him not only a standing ovation but also a smile? Why was her Daddy crying … happy tears?

All those answers remained unanswered though, and she focused back on the task at hand.

"Ladies and Gentleman." His speaking voice was smooth and had a lilt in it. She swooned at that. His singing voice was grandiose but his speaking voice was something she could listen to all day long. "Vocal Adrenaline." As he rushed to the back, her eyes followed him.

The Rolling Stones's _You Can't Always Get What You Want _opened and their voices blended together. Still, it was the unknown soloist's voice that had won over all of the voices. She could see that there were other attractive members of VA, but her eyes would always drift to him and her ears would always filter the others just so she could have a better hearing of his voice.

The second song died down and the third one blended immediately. Again, the soloist took the stage. His voice was warm and inviting. And then, a tall Latina made her way to the front, showing off her… weak Bass.

"Oh, holy theatre goddess, this is a conspiracy!" She hissed.

It wasn't fair. The Latina was barely using the proper breathing. Her voice came from her throat. She could see from where she sat the way her chest constrict from using the air there. Her diaphragm was fairly untouched. Apollo was practically carrying the song for her.

It really wasn't fair. Apollo needed someone to be able to sing him _punto por punto_. He needed someone of his equal. He needed someone with mezzo-soprano to match with his high tenor. So, in short, he needed _her_. Because no one in their state, in their age, in this lifetime, could match him like she could. She could already hear it in her mind. The blending of their vocals would be perfect.

As the Carmel took their bow to another standing ovation, she knew that this was it. She stopped the recording she was doing and raised her phone to take a picture. She took another, and another. All of it only had the mystery soloist (Apollo) in a zoom in. When the group left the stage, she picked up the fallen program and scanned over the names. She needed his name. She needed to know everything about him. There weren't even any indication on who he was. And then, her eyes caught a name that could only matched his face, his talent.

Jesse Stephen St. James.

It was a star name, she could tell. And from what she could see, just as her mother picked Barbra as her middle name – she was going to conquer broadway and be a bigger star than Barbra Streisand – he also had a big shoe to fill up with his middle name. She could immediately tell – from his song – that it was meant to be Stephen Sondheim.

Then, her eyes saw a Latina name, Giselle Torres and she recalled the weak Bass that barely melted with Jesse's high tenor.

To take her mind of her jealousy – and planned duets with him – she turned to face Mr. Schue, who was too entranced with Jesse. She tugged the cuffs of his sleeves, asking for his attention.

"Daddy Schue?" When he didn't answer, she bit her lower lips and called out for him in a formal manner. It was obvious that this was serious.

"Yes, Rachel?"

"What are you going to offer him to leave Carmel and come to McKinley?" She asked.

It was Mr. Schue's usual tactic. He would offer a talented person something – a condo, a car, a new model of laptop, anything – just so they would join. Usually, people would be jumping in to join them. But there were still some loyal to their show choir.

(Honestly, those who jumped on the chance to be part of ND weren't worth her time. In her eyes, they could be easily swayed… weak-minded fools.

She preferred those who stayed loyal to their team. That's how it was supposed to be.)

A flash of something – she couldn't tell _what _but it was something – drifted on his eyes before it was gone. "He's not coming to McKinley." Mr. Schue's tone was bland, empty and she almost missed the words.

"Excuse me?" She practically hissed. "That's outrageous! A voice like his is needed in ND!"

It was true. Such a beautiful lilting voice was on par – or perhaps it had surpassed, Sebastian's own voice. And with the way that Finn Hudson was singing, he wasn't ND quality and she really wanted to kick him out already.

(She suspected that there was money involved in the miracle on how Hudson stayed on the team.)

_Wasn't I a good daughter? _She almost wanted to ask. Why was Mr. Schue not giving her what she wanted – needed? Couldn't he see that only someone of _her _caliber can match up to his? That one _he _can shine alongside _her?_ Why was he denying her of the performance of a lifetime?

_I've finally met my match and you're denying me of him_. She wanted to yell out.

"Why?" She gritted out when he didn't answer. "Do we need some sort of elevation? I can give away my car, my condo… I can buy a new one for him. ANYTHING."

"Berry," She flinched and her eyes widened. He _never _called her by her last name. He _never _spoke to her with such cold tone. What in the? "Stay put. My decision is final."

Rachel – for the first time in a while, put on her showface in front of her mentor, her _Dad_. She glared stonily at the head of the person in front of her. The image of her Apollo kissing that pug-face's hand and the his duet with the Latina flashed in her mind.

Again, jealousy stirred inside her.

She wanted to throw a tantrum, but she knew it would do no good. She –

Wait.

Her mind backtracked at her conversation with her coach. A small grin made its way on her face, but she put her showface back on before anyone can notice. She took out her phone and texted Andrea Cohen – she was sure that the senior girl she met in that Dance studio lived somewhere in Akron, somewhere near Carmel. She had to know something about Jesse Stephen St. James.

_Daddy Schue never said anything about having _private _duets out of the show choir biz…_

* * *

**So, I got an inspiration after reading Inevitability (by Cris ~ Go read the stories there! Love you, Cris! Don't sue me) and I wanted to do something like that. Some of them may be taken from the second chapter of the fic, but I just… can't explain.**

**I had started writing this April 8, 2014; 8:24 pm when I got the inspiration while listening and re-listening to Rachel and Blaine (Anderberry!) sing Don't You Want Me and my Glee playlist of Marley's songs, Loser like Me, Sebastian's songs (Sebastian!), and others. I finished and published it at 2:23 am April 9, 2014. I haven't had sleep. So, please be kind with me. Please. I'm just going to get my much needed sleep now. Beta it if you wish. But I say that my head's not focused properly - I typed with my cellphone (during lunch breaks - planning) and tablet (my laptop was with my Ma) and my laptop (just to publish it). Be Kind to this Insomniac**

**I hadn't watched GLEE in ages (not since Prom Queen – the last episode for me) and I only watched some vids and song performance. BTW, Jesse should totally go to NYADA to get Rachel back. In my honest opinion, _It's All Coming Back to Me Now _in the Nationals is some sort of serenade from Rachel to Jesse. Because – honest to the heavens above – can you give another ex of Rachel who would inspire such feelings to her other than Jesse?**

**I meant no disrespect when I kept on b*shing Finn. I like him as a character. I just don't find the same _ka-pow _in him as I do St. Berry.**

**(Don't kill me Finchel fans. I'm a St. Berrian. We're not 'fighters')**

**Anyway, the pug-face that Jesse kissed the hand of… it's Becky. I know! Crazy, right? But since it was Jewfro that Rachel had tapped on the head, and he is _obsessed _with her, I found the same crazy and obsessed female counterpart – Becky.**

**BTW, the ND are composed of Rachel Berry, Finn Hudson (who took the place of Sebastian Smythe after he left for Paris), Quinn Fabray, Santana Lopez, Mike Chang, Matthew Rutherford, Chris Matthews (he's a VA member in original, the repeater – here, it's in ND who gets the repeater.), and others.**

**VA has Jesse St. James, Giselle Torres, Andrea Cohen, Shoshandra Mikhails (a canon VA member), Tina Cohen-Chang, Artie Abrams, Noah Puckerman, Brittany Pierce, Mercedes Jones, Kurt Hummel, and others.**


	2. Hello

**Title: Meeting**

**Author: Eulphy**

**Summary: In which it's Rachel who instigates the meeting and Jesse's awestruck. But their _Hello _is still the best thing in the season – as a duet, a ballad, and Anthem (for St. Berrians)**

**Note: Timeline – Season One, Hell-O. The first time they sang together, the first time they said their _Hellos. _Still in Rachel's POV. Review me and tell me what you want to read next.**

**BTW, forgive me, loyal Jesse lovers, but I had... *chokes* practically _killed_ Jesse. (-.-*) I'll be in my corner crying now...**

* * *

Rachel Berry was _not _a stalker.

She would like to say that before anyone get the wrong idea. She was merely curious. And sometimes, curiousity gets the best of a person. That's the reason why she found herself in a music store in Akron at three-fifteen pm after skipping practice with the excuse of a 'family emergency'. There were some cries of outrage from others, yelling out about unfairness.

(She did a complete dance and song number by Laurey from _Oklahoma! _to shut them up.)

Now, she sat in one of the comfy chairs in the music store. She had continuously stalked the store for a few days now since Andrea Cohen had kindly – and innocently – informed her about one Jesse St. James.

If anyone (namely Santana or Sebastian) would ask her why she was so darn curious of the young man, she already had her answers prepared and written in neat special paper with the gold stars scattered on the border. There were loads of bullets (stars/asterisk) there, but it all ended in one thing: curiosity and the call of talent.

Rachel sighed as she reviewed what Andrea could give her about Apollo. (And yes, she still called him that. She used it as an alias, just so Daddy Schue wouldn't know that she defied him when he told her not to approach the young man.)

She recalled how Andrea informed her that he wasn't really the most popular guy. He was at the bottom of the social ladder. He was talented, but he was also an _arrogant ass _(Andrea's words). He often declared that he was going to take on Broadway with Stephen Sondheim's songs and taking on the most iconic Broadway shows as the lead.

In short, he was the male version of Rachel.

The admission of that only fueled her desire to know more about him. She wanted to know what Broadway he wanted to be in – no, that wasn't how it was to be worded out. She was going to find out what Broadway he was going to be the lead of.

He was like her, after all. And she knew, when she wanted something, she would go for it. She knew that, like her, he would one day take over Broadway.

With her thoughts like those, she decided she would _accidentally _meet with him. She had staked out on the places he usually hanged out.

(She didn't get that from Andrea. Let's just say that 'great minds think alike'…

Though she really just stalked his MySpace and Facebook)

She had been coming back to this music store for days now that the owner already knew of her name. The reason she gave him for always returning in scheduled time was she was 'looking for her soul mate' (she said that with a straight and solemn face). He laughed at her words and told her that she might not find _the one _in the dingy music store of his. She only laughed at that and told him that she was still staying. He even allowed her to use the grand piano on the middle of his store.

In fact, she had just finished playing _Michelle _by The Beatles, a favorite of hers, when she noticed _him._

He stood there, perusing the various collections of classics and retros. She could only see him sideways but she could feel a telltale flush on her cheeks as she recall that one video she watched of him singing something from the Modern Top 40s ballad. She was – admittedly enough – impressed with his versatile vocal range. Once again, that _need _for duet between the two of them rose inside her. But she reined that desire in.

(She was patient…

But, damn, her patience was wearing thin.)

She stood up, leaving her half-empty cup of non-fat, soy milk, and decaf latte from the Lima Bean (the best coffee shop in the state of Ohio, as stated by Mr. Sebastian Smythe, self-proclaimed Casanova and connoisseur of women, men, and coffees.) and placed it on the top of a table somewhere near the piano. She unconsciously smoothed her skirt and tugged the sleeve of her sweater (Why did he come when she wasn't particularly dressed up like she usually was when going there?). She tried to calm her nerves and make a good impression, but she felt like a stumbling lovesick teenager.

"Lionel Richie's collection, I like it." She bit back a giggle when Jesse Stephen St. James suddenly gasped and dropped the music book he was looking at. She did smile, a dazzling smile that had weaker men on their knees, and knelt down to pick the fallen book down. She faked looking through the pages, humming as if she approved when she really didn't know much of Lionel Richie's classics except for her grandmother's favorite, _Hello_ and _My Love._ "Did you find something you like to play?" She asked him, finally meeting his eyes for the first time.

_They really are blue_. It was all she could think of. His FaceBook photo couldn't describe the fullness of his eyes and his MySpace videos missed the Caribbean blue of its color. She wanted to look at it all day but her daydreams were snapped away when she heard him say her name, "… Rachel Berry, New Directions's Lead, right?"

"Yes." She said in that pleasant voice she has heard from her Nanny. She inspected him. He looked awestruck, that much was obvious. But then, he smiled a much more dazzling smile (Holy Smoking Sondheim! He _is _Apollo, a god in human form) and she couldn't help but smile back – this time much more sincerely.

"I-I'm –" But before he could introduce himself, she cut him off.

"Jesse Stephen St. James," He looked shocked that she knew his name, and when she offered her hand for him and he grasped it, she felt him trembling. "Your performance in the sectionals was awe-inspiring."

"You were there?" His voice hitched, sounding like he couldn't believe someone like _her _would go into something small like that willingly.

(Well, he was right. She was forced to go there.)

"Oh yes, you're rendition of _Giants in the Sky _was flawed, though." She said, and it wasn't _really _a lie. "It lacked the emotional depth. It was passionate, but it was lacking the emotion that Ben Wright, Robert Duncan McNeill, Adam Wylie, Tyler Wigglesworth or any others who played Jack and Stephen Sondheim had poured into it – the thrill of telling that story." _You can do better_, she wanted to say. There were parts of the song when she'd felt he was pouring more into the passion in _winning_, wowing the judges, than the passion of _performing, _telling the audience the story_._

(_Like you_, a small voice in the back of her head says.

She ignores it. But she doesn't disagree.)

He flushed, embarrassment clear in his expressive blue orbs. And she suddenly felt bad. She was only performing her duties as a Diva, criticizing and demeaning competition. But she suddenly felt guilt gnaw her being because Jesse didn't deserve her sharp words. Santana was the Bitch who hurts because she had nothing better to do. Quinn demeaned everyone else, often leaving them in tears. Sebastian laughed at them, called them worthless, especially when they _are _one but mostly when he feels threatened.

But Rachel wasn't like that. Well, she was a Diva, often demanding everything to be hers, but she doesn't fight on the dirt. She knows better than that because she _is _a **Diva_._**

"You're talented, though." She tried to retract the claws sinking onto him. "You're belting was amazing. and coming from me, someone who hasn't heard anyone in US who can belt like I can, that's a compliment."

"T-Thanks." He stammered, and she could see his whole demeanor turning into reserved. She had to fix that. She'd waited far too long for them to formally meet for their first meeting to go down in a bust. But before she could do a _divine intervention, _he spoke, "You were the one playing _Michelle _earlier, right?"

There was a dancer in her stomach dancing contemporary. She smiled, despite that. "Yeah. I'm surprised you know of it. Not many in our age know of _Michelle._"

"My music taste varies." Was his answer, smiling at her.

"Well, I've always like to sing this," She showed him the page for _Hello_. "Would you honor me a duet?"

"A-a duet?" He parroted. "With _me._"

"Yes." She held her arm for him and led him towards the grand piano. She stood there, and before she could sit down and start the song, he suddenly took the initiative and sat down in her usual spot.

His fingers flew down the keys and the intro for hello played. She watched his face, mesmerized by this person in front of her. (Gosh! This guy was hot and can sing and play, huh? If he could dance, he's perfect!) The shy guy from earlier was gone. In front of her right then, playing this song, was a star performer.

She felt like she was back in time. The music store faded into background and she was in their château in Munich. It wasn't 2009, but 2002. She wasn't 17, but 10. She could hear the gaily laughter of her grandmother as she laugh and the soft music playing from the grand piano. She watched, mesmerized, as her grandfather serenaded her grandmother.

The first note broke her out of her flashback. Suddenly, everything in the world righted itself and she was 17 again. Her eyes rose and met his. He sang with such longing in his voice, as if trying to prove that he can sing with emotion. Her lips unconsciously lifted up as she sang with him.

(**_Goddess of Broadway! Holy Barbra! Beloved Sondheim_**!)

They were perfect.

Their voices harmonized with each other. The emotions on the song were filled with such love and longing that it surprised her. When they sang together, it felt like they had been waiting for this to happen their whole life and everything else was just back-up. Nothing – not even singing with Sebastian or that one-time duet with Mr. Schue could compare to this.

It may be cheesy or psycho, but it felt like the universe finally aligned itself and she found that someone she never thought she was looking for.

She stared at him, mesmerized as he played the final notes and feeling that completely foreign emotion in her chest.

(She would like to refute that New Directions are soulless automaton – and yes, she does know how people perceived them – but feeling that feeling inside her made her wonder if their accusations were true. Because she doesn't understand why and how she never felt whatever this is before when she did a duet with professionals – national champion singers.)

"That was… amazing." She breathed out, a smile making itself known.

He smiled at her and the dancer in her stomach began doing a chachacha. "I haven't had a duet quite like that before."

"Same." She shook her head, trying to form coherent and intelligent sentence. It was futile effort, though.

The Diva in her had gone silent. She wasn't _the _Rachel Barbra Berry, star performer of New Directions. She was _Rachel_, the teenage girl who found on this awkward and yet stunning performer amazing.

"So, um, would you like a repeat of that performance?" She bit her lips, hoping he'd say yes.

"W-well, I'd love to, but…" Her heart sank as he fumbled around. "I – uh, can't."

(Rachel Berry. Rejected.)

She felt her heart was downtrodden and she stammered, not really used to rejection. "Oh, uh, well, t-that's fine."

"I-it's not that I don't want to, I just really can't." He explained, as if realizing that she was disappointed. (He must've felt the same) "It's Family Dinner and I promised Mama I'd help her prepare dinner."

"Oh!" She visibly brightened at that.

(She dashed off all the depressing things on her mind. But she wrote one in a big red marker with a gold star around it: HE RESPECTS AND LOVES HIS MAMA! - she can see it on his eyes when he said 'Mama'. It was a really nice [note: big plus] for her. Her Nanny always said she ought to find someone who loves and respects his mother because it was a sign that he'll love and respect his partner.)

"Yeah, um, look, maybe we can do this another time." He gave her another smile, it was a friendly smile. It was obvious that he didn't like her _that _way, but it didn't matter. She got a duet! AGAIN!

"Sure." She chirped. Instantly, she was up and fishing a pen out of her pocket (never leave home without one – for autographs). She grabbed his arms and wrote her number there. She added the a star there, for good measure. "Call me."

A bright blush adorned his cheeks. "Y-yeah. I will." He grabbed the Lionel Richie music book and started to walk away. Her eyes never left his back, and when he looked back to wave goodbye, she blushed. When he was finally out of the music store, she fell back down on the seat. The seat she'd called her own suddenly felt so empty. Her fingers began to hover on the keys for the opening of _Hello_.

"So, that's the soul mate of yours, eh?" Rachel bit back a yelp as Andrew, the owner, suddenly appeared by her side.

"Don't spook me like that, Andrew!" She gaped out.

"Baby girl, I've stood here for ages. I even got to see your performance with your soul mate." He chortled. "You're both so talented."

Rachel twidled with her index fingers and asked her friend, "How did we do? I – I meant, I just… felt a spark there. W-was that supposed to happen? I mean, I felt like the universe suddenly aligned itself and the world finally righted itself. I-is that normal?"

"Oh, girl, you got it bad." Andrew laughed.

"What?" Her brows furrowed, not really understanding.

Andrew just laughed and patted her head, ignoring her indignant yell of: _I'm not a dog_, and left to go to the front of the store.

When she was all alone, she allowed her fingers to finally touch the keys he touched earlier. The music felt so different. It didn't sound exactly like that serenade of her grandfather, but it felt like… someone really saying _Hello_ for the first time.

Her thoughts were cut off when her phone blared that Broadway show tunes she adored so much. She looked at it, a new message. It was an unknown number. Her curiosity was peaked and she opened it. She felt a squeal erupt her throat when she read it.

**Michelle,**

**Maybe we can do a duet again Friday, 1 'o clock?**

_Oh yes_, Rachel decided as she do a funny jig, not caring about who sees her. _The universe has aligned and the world has righted itself._

* * *

**Okay. Wow. I was not expecting that.**

**This thing just sort of matured – grew, whatever… just… it was borne on its own. I was just letting my fingers do the typing. And wow, it's great… I think it is.**

**Anyway, TIME STARTED: April 11, 2014; 3 PM. FINISHED at 1:47 of April 12, 2014.**

**So, my playlist was _Hello_ the GLEE rendition. I also listened to _Giants in the Sky_ by different artists and the original playwright. I felt that it was only right, so I wouldn't forget or miss anything. I also listened to _Michelle_ by the Beatles and the cover version that Mayra Andrade did. I also listened to Darren Criss serenades Alan, the composer of many Disney songs. I listened to On my Own by Lea Salonga and covers by SweetPoffin (Elsie Lovelock).**

**Anyway, as final bye-bye: Please Comment/Review. I really want to know if anyone's mad or crazy about this. That's all.**

**I'm really no good at Diva stuff. I just thought that – since VA (in Canon) was said to be soulless singers, I could add that for ND. And she may be a National Diva, but she's still a teenager – never been in love and all those yanks. I added her as someone who isn't that _bad_. I mean, if Jesse could have actual feelings when he was in VA (canon) and fall for her, then she can too, right?**

**As for my Jesse (love that!)… well, I envisioned him as somewhat Spencer Reid © Criminal Minds. I mean, if Rachel's fashion sense is still like that – but it gets better because she wants to impress him, he must be wearing something other than black because I doubt having two moms would allow that fashion sense. No ma'am. And he would be new to the praise and someone like Rachel actually talking and praising him. But when he's on stage (or something), everything goes away and the performance gets the best of him.**


End file.
